Pancakes
by purpleprozac
Summary: Pietro and Clint's morning. PWP and breakfast.
The bed was empty, but the sheets still warm where Pietro's hand was fumbling blindly for the sleepy late morning comfort of a heavily scarred man covered in band-aids. The young man sighed and turned on his back, reluctantly raising his messy head from the pillows and looking around, eyes barely open. The bedroom was empty, and the sun was high and bright behind half-closed blinders. Pietro stretched between the sheets and had his toes tangled in leather straps of a whip. He chuckled and kicked it to the floor, into the scattered underwear, t-shirts, socks, sweatpants and candy wrappers.

He probably fell asleep without even noticing, since the next moment Pietro opened his eyes, there he was, standing in the doorway – Clint Barton, dirty blond hair damp and messy, holding two mugs of coffee and shaking off the towel from his waist to the floor. Clint settled in bed next to Pietro, careful not to spill the hot coffee. Pietro stacked the pillows behind his back and took the mug from naked, wet Hawkeye.

"Well, good morning, pretty boy, which, truth be told, is already more like afternoon. And I thought I'm the one who oversleeps."

"That's what all this fresh air does to me, Clint! The farm, the quiet summer nights, fresh air, you fucking me until sunrise, the whole 'Visit Hawkeye's farm' experience. I mean, I knew you were well-preserved for your age, but damn, you make a fine farmer with all this ploughing and seeding."

"For my age?"

"Well, you're, what, pushing fifty, right?" Pietro loudly sipped his coffee and looked at Clint with innocent puppy eyes. "Weren't you around Watergate Hotel when that Nixon guy got screwed? Also, how did you and your farm go through the Dust Bowl? I'd love to learn more about American history from a man who's been there!"

"Damn, am I weak against a hot ass and an inquisitive young mind," murmured Clint with a smile. "But just so we're clear, Pietro, I'm forty five, you're technically dead to everyone who knows about you, and you are alone with me on a secluded farm within the driving distance only from Fuck, Knows and Where. So, if you have any other quips, keep in mind I don't even need a gag to keep you quiet while I murder the living shit out of your snarky Sokovian ass. And I also have plenty of gags."

"Clint."

"What?"

"You make one hot serial killer."

"You obviously don't know about any of my roles prior to _The Avengers_."

"Roles?"

"Nevermind."

Clint put their mugs on a bedside table and moved closer to Pietro, who looked curiously at the man beside him and the hand that slowly ran down the bedsheet and cupped the hardening bulge between young man's legs.

"Did I get you hard already? Maybe I should give you death threats more often, huh?"

Clint pulled down the sheet and followed Pietro's happy trail with his eyes.

"You like what you see," Pietro made a deliberate pause waiting for Clint to raise his eyes at him. "Old man?"

"Sure, kid." Hawkeye's voice got lower as he moved closer to Pietro, his breath hot on the young man's neck and lips suddenly dry and in the need of licking. The tip of Clint's tongue flicked Pietro's ear. "You bet I like it, and I like it deep, and rough, and at your top speed. Yeah. Top. You heard me. You didn't think I'll do all the hard work, did you?"

In one sharp move he placed his hand on Pietro's stubbly chin and pulled him closer, giving a thorough hungry lick to his ear, teasing the earlobe and squeezing it between the teeth, moving the tongue from the ear to the neck and back again, slowly tasting it to the sound of barely audible Eastern European cursing. Clint moved his hand down Pietro's neck, stroking his chest, lightly circling a nipple and sliding lower, into the sticky mess of pre-cum and thick curly hair.

"I guess you like the idea, baby boy." Clint's finger was barely touching the skin as he traced Pietro's balls and the length of his cock right to the leaking pink tip. Pietro's breath hitched and he bucked up his hips seeking more friction. Clint took his hand away from the cock and pushed the young man back down. He slowly stroked Pietro's inner thigh.

"Now that just won't do. You look so desperate I'm afraid you'll come the second you put your dick inside me. That I can not allow. I need you to last long." Clint's finger was back on Pietro's throbbing cock, feeling his balls tighten at the touch. "I need you to come now. And then I need you to fuck me so long and hard you make me scream."

Pietro felt his stomach twitch as the heat of an approaching orgasm filled his erection, when Clint's hand was gone again. The frustrated whimper was the only coherent thing he could say to that, spread helplessly in bed with eyes closed, lost in the obscenities whispered in his ear and the most electrifying touch that was barely even there. He felt Clint's hard cock thrusting into his thigh and knew that Hawkeye was just as close to losing it, hardly even forming sentences anymore and seemingly speaking in heavy breathing, low moans and wet, bruising kisses.

It all suddenly stopped, and Clint perched himself up on an elbow, lusty haze gone from his eyes.

"Oh, silly me, how could I forget?"

"Wha?" Pietro mumbled, trying to focus.

"The most important meal of the day!"

Pietro was still piecing together the last moments, when Clint straddled him, placing his ass in front of Pietro's confused face.

"You forgot to eat, kid."

"Barton, you're disgusting!" Pietro burst out laughing and pulled Clint's firm butt closer.

"No, I'm delicious. Now stop laughing into my ass and eat it, dammit!"

Clint felt his dick leaking as the young man dug in, pushing his face between the cheeks and thoroughly exploring Hawkeye's rear with his mouth. Wet hot tongue diving inside and thick stubble prickling Clint's tender skin were quickly building heat down in his stomach, trickling lower and lower into his painfully throbbing cock.

"I guess I'll have something, too," mumbled Clint and leaned over, taking Pietro's cock into his mouth.

Clint sucking on Pietro's cock had his entire body sway back and forth, pushing his ass onto Pietro's face. Pietro gasped for air, gave it a loud slap and doubled his efforts, circling and probing Clint's quivering anus with his tongue. Finally, it twitched harder, and Pietro felt the hard cock spill thick streams of cum onto his chest. Clint's moan around the cock pushed Pietro over the edge himself, shooting a load into the older man's throat. He heard Clint swallow and felt a quick tongue lick his dick clean.

Clint rolled on his back next to Pietro, placing his feet on a pillow. For a minute, both were quiet, breathing heavily.

"That is one fast tongue you got on you, speedster."

"Always at your service, Barton."

"That's the spirit. Oh, and you wanna know the real silly part?"

"Hm?"

"I've actually made pancakes."


End file.
